Wake Up And Smell The Roses
by Polaris Black
Summary: AU. A flash of green, an inhumane scream. The sound of ripping, and then...white. Blissful nothingness. But somewhere, a conscience swam. Tom Riddles harrowing dream


**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Wish I did though. Just a teensie bit.**

A flash of green, an inhumane scream. The sound of ripping, and then...white. Blissful nothingness. But somewhere, a conscience swam.

_Awake._

_Wait. Stop. Not yet. Breathe. Concentrate. _

_Where am I?_

_Ah. I smell moss, damp walls, Avery's horrendous cologne-_

_Avery? But he's dead._

_He opened his eyes. What? But..._

"Hello Mr. Riddle"

Tom jolted up, hand reaching for his wand under his pillow, only to find-

"Can I ask you why you are pointing something that looks unquestionably phallic at me?"

_Dammit Lestrange! _" Oh, uh, sorry professor" Tom hurriedly shoved the offending object under his bed.

Professor Canopus, the Slytherin private tutor, peered at him from behind spectacles tinted slightly grey.

"That's quite alright. See no evil, speak no evil."

"It's not mine Professor, I swear! Lestrange came back last summer and-"

"Enough. It's not important. I came up here because I heard someone thrashing and screaming. And seeing as Lestrange left for his Christmas Holidays last night, you are the only person in the 6th year Slytherin dorm. Are you alright boy?"

"Yes sir, just a bad dream is all" Tom looked away; he could feel Canopus trying to skim his memories. _No! They are mine and mine alone!_

Professor Canopus looked startled and opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself,

"Ah. If you say so. I can have Professor Slughorn whip up some Dreamless Sleep if you would like? For his favorite student, he would do it in a heartbeat"

Tom smiled faintly at him, "No, honestly, I'm quite alright, thank you"

"Well, if you say so," Professor Canopus repeated, this time doubtfully. "I'll be tutoring the second years downstairs. If you require any assistance, simply say."

"Thank you sir, I'll keep that in mind"

Canopus swished out, tinted grey lenses flashing over his shoulder with one more, curious glance. Then the door shut, and with it Tom released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

_By Hecate, what in the hell is going on?_

Tom quickly removed his bed covers and began to pace the floor by his bed. The dream was rapidly slipping from his mind. Rosier had taken his pensieve home with him, so he had no way to quickly store the remnants.

_Write it down you fool!_

Tom scrambled over to his desk, whipping out a quill and parchment.

_Where's the bloody ink! Where is my bloody ink!_

As if knowing what he required, a bottle of emerald green ink flew out from Nott's desk and into his hand. Tom immediately slammed it down on the table, dipped his quill into it and began writing. Death Eaters, something about the third Hallow, a boy named Harry Potter, a prophecy, and he was bald. Tom ran a hand through his ebony locks and scoffed.

_Bald! Hah! I'd rather kiss a muggles' arse!_

All these bits and pieces seemed to make no sense. The name he had made for himself, Voldemort, appeared quite often. That and Horcruxes. He already knew about Horcruxes. He had planned on making his first one the next year, during the summer, by murdering his pathetic muggle relatives. 1944 would have been the year that Tom Marvolo Riddle achieved immortality. 1944 would have been the year Tom Marvolo Riddle became his counterpart, The Dark Lord Voldemort! But now...he wasn't so sure. His mind in the dream was twisted beyond reasons. Gone was the cool, calculating genius that was Tom Riddle. In his place stood a psychotic megalomaniac. A man driven by bloodlust and revenge. Yes, Tom wanted power, that was for sure, and he wanted to be feared at a certain level. However, he wanted people to recognize him for his genius, not his affinity for the Cruciatus Curse. He had planned on making not just one Horcrux, but seven. However now, after the dream, he feared for his mental stability and over all sanity.

_Is that what I want to become? I was deranged! Demented! Non compos mentis! Nutters! I was feared and hated by some of the most respectable people in society, people that could potentially have aided me if I had played my cards right. Yes, my name would be remembered for a very long time, perhaps forever, but always with a sneer or a look of disgust. Not that I care what other people think of me of course, especially not those who dirty our blood. Filthy-_

Tom stopped and realized that he was pacing again. He went and stood by the mirror by his bedside. He looked at himself, and he could see his muggle father in his hair, his nose and his jaw. He didn't know about his eyes. He liked to think that he had his mother's eyes.

He had taken to spying on the Riddle family last summer, quietly planning their murder. It was there, in those bramble bushes, that he had seen his father for the first time. A sudden urge had overcome him to jump out of the bushes, run over, and throw himself into his father's arms, seeking acceptance, but he had immediately quelled that urge. His hatred only grew when he saw a woman walking beside him, laughing like an inbred, degenerate idiot. His anger had begun to slowly spiral out of control, and he knew he had had to leave at once.

_***Flashback***_

He gave the two pathetic excuses for living creatures one last look of pure loathing and apparated away. He appeared in the one place that set his mind at peace; his cliffs. However, the roaring wind and the sound of waves crashing together only enraged him further and he dropped to his knees.

"WHY WAS SHE NOT GOOD ENOUGH! WHY WAS I NOT GOOD ENOUGH! If only you knew, that you fathered the most intelligent and the most talented wizard the world had ever seen! THEN WOULD YOU CARE? Do you ever think about us? Why didn't you stay Father? WHY DID YOU LEAVE US?"

Tom crumpled, his breathing harsh and ragged, tears streaming from his eyes. His hands clawed into the dirt and grass, looking for something to anchor himself to. Images of growing up in the orphanage filled his inner eye, being bullied and harassed by the other children. Their nickname for him "the Bastard Ghost" taunted his ears.

NO! Never again! Never again shall he be looked down upon like a spec of dirt! Never again shall he be treated like a worthless human being! He was special, and everyone would know!

_***End Flashback***_

Tom stood up from the side of his bed, his body shaking. His father would suffer, but as the dream had showed him, not at the price of his souls' integrity. A cruel smile flitted onto his face. There were other ways to make the wretched muggle suffer. And each and every one of them would be used. With full satisfaction. Tom chuckled at the thought, then looked into the mirror, straight into his cold, dark eyes.

Never again.

**A/N: This is one of my first fanfics, so let me know what you think. I might or might not turn this into something bigger. We'll see. Hope you enjoyed it!**


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